


Have You Ever Been Touched So Gently You Had to Cry

by lonestarbabe (neverfeltlesscool), Pigeonsplotinsecrecy



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Addiction, Episode Tag, M/M, Protect TK Strand, Season 1, Season 1 Episode 2, carlos reyes is the sweetest hunk around, reflective tk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfeltlesscool/pseuds/lonestarbabe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy
Summary: TK's point of view for the dinner that went wrong but was really nice of Carlos, the sweetest hunk alive, to prepare. Takes place during S01E02.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star)/TK Strand
Comments: 27
Kudos: 163





	Have You Ever Been Touched So Gently You Had to Cry

T.K. felt like a complete idiot because clearly, he overreacted to what should have been a nice situation. He ran away and put a sour look on Carlos’ face for no reason other than being afraid and still so lost.

A hot, unbelievably hot, man had made him dinner, but all T.K. could think about was being slammed down against the couch as strong, callused hands pushed his legs apart and lips pressed against his neck, trailing down his body creating friction against his exposed skin. He wanted Carlos to fuck the feelings right out of him, but instead, T.K. was sitting rigidly in a hard kitchen chair that Carlos had pulled out for him like a goddamn gentleman. T.K. didn’t want _gentle_. He wanted to slam around the room like a ping pong ball and wrestle his way to the couch. Yet, Carlos had slowed him, called him tiger with a gentle tone. T.K. had tried gentle before, and when gentle had failed, he’d wound up hunting down a handful of pills to wash away thoughts of the glistening ring that had sat heavily in his pocket. Despite all his bravado and love of rough sex, what really made T.K.’s heart pound was _softness_ , but oh how he feared it.

There was nothing more intimate than letting someone look at you with affection more than lust, a look that means that for all your bodily perfections (and imperfections), your body is not itself that important. It is merely an intricately designed temple to hold the rest of you. How intimate it is when the sex is more than carnal and is a chance to venture beyond the skin, a chance for someone else to learn about everything you keep stitched on the inside of your sleeve. The softness of a slow and steady kiss against the neck just before the rough and tumble was something that could ease all tension from T.K. shoulders, but it could also lure him to heartbreak and dizzying chaos. He hated to be reminded that the person you love may not always love you back.

Romance was not something T.K. was ready for, and he certainly wasn’t ready for the fond look Carlos gave him as they sat down at the table. He’d nearly died when he’d gone looking for something to kill the chaos in his head, and it was just starting to sink in that his boyfriend, almost fiancé, was now an ex-boyfriend with a not-so-new boyfriend. He’d picked up and left for Texas, and it seemed that everything in his life was changing. Maybe it was for the better, but that didn’t stop the itchiness that filled T.K.’s body as the threat of _vulnerability_ made him shift in his seat and pull at his citron hoodie. Oh, how he wished to be naked instead watching as breathtaking brown eyes looked at him like he was the kind of person someone might want to know.

He felt those same eyes gaze into his, and they were probing him in ways that made him want to shrink in his seat. He was being seen more clearly than he would have preferred. He’d rather be painted by an impressionist than a cubist; he wanted to give Carlos only the small, bleary strokes of himself, not the chaotic, multidimensional fragments of his whole self.

As he tried to relax in his chair, T.K. saw the red wine swish in Carlos’ hand, and his eyes unwittingly lit up a little. He knew he could down a whole bottle just to escape the feelings that were decanting in his stomach. He declined the wine, even though part of him was dying to just have a few sips, and he hated the look of apology that crossed Carlos’ face at his answer. Carlos was too sweet for someone handling dry wine.

T.K. fidgeted in his seat, watching Carlos put food on the table, and it was just too much, too domestic. He couldn’t help explaining that he didn’t want anything serious. Carlos told him it wasn’t like he was proposing, and everything in the room stilled for T.K. He didn’t move for a moment, but the room was still so noisy. That same old feeling of wanting to escape was brimming over, and at that point he had two choices: get up and walk out the door or gulp a glass of wine until his teeth were pink and all the thoughts swirling in his head drowned in a whirlpool of chemicals.

It wasn’t that T.K. wasn’t interested in Carlos because yeah, what man-loving human wouldn’t love Carlos? Hot policemen were a thing of fantasies, and ones so sweet as Carlos were almost impossible to find in the wild. The problem was that Carlos wasn’t someone T.K. could date halfway. If they dated, not just fucked around, T.K. didn’t want to mess up, and he wasn’t in the right state of mind _not_ to mess it up. Therapy twice a week left him raw and emotionally drained. He couldn’t handle sharing more emotions, so it was the wrong time to add a relationship to the mix. That’s what T.K. told himself, anyway.

Even though he knew it wasn’t a good time, T.K. couldn’t help but fantasize what falling in love with Carlos would be like. He imagined them playing a game, Carlos trying to guess what T.K. stood for. “Timothy Kyle,” he’d guess, “Theodore Kane,” another guess, “Travis Kenny” or “Thomas Keagan” and T.K. would laugh, keeping his lips sealed just to drag the game out a little long, milking the sweetness from the moment. T.K. would just say, “Those are all terrible names, and Carlos would reply, “Perhaps that’s why you only use two letters.”

T.K. imagined Carlos cooking him meals, lighting candles, and making T.K. feel _seen_ even in the dim light. Carlos would still fuck him hard as they manhandled each other and let their muscles pop, but they’d add delicate touches. T.K. would let himself forget all that troubled him, and he’d let his mind be hyperaware of how lucky he was to have a guy like Carlos. Carlos would trail a hand down T.K.’s abs, and he’d let T.K.’s head drop against his shoulder. They’d twist themselves together on the couch, slick and salty like pretzels, enjoying the smells and textures of each other’s body.

But T.K. reminded himself that it couldn’t be, not now, because he was an addict who had just recently relapsed. He got lost in the high, the grand gestures, and the heroics, and in the process, he lost the gentle touches, fleeting glances, and the welcome arms of the person who could know all the little intricacies of T.K. Strand. He needed to learn to exist in the everyday moments— the mundane, the joyful, the depressing, the stressful—and then, once he did that, maybe he could try romance. Maybe then he could let himself be loved by Carlos.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little story I was inspire to write based on the episode. I hope that you enjoyed this. Feel free to leave any thoughts. As usual, you can find me at Lonestarbabe on tumblr. Thank you all for reading. You're the best. I'm looking forward to seeing how TK will evolve and the other characters as well of course.
> 
> Update: I literally wrote two stories with the same I’m exact titles in two different fandoms 😂 so clearly P!nk always hits just as hard. My chaotic energy is alive and well.


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